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‘And that was when—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Antonio said insincerely, ‘I’ve just seen someone I need to speak to.’
He left the blonde woman practically stamping her foot in his wake and went to find... Anything would be better than that.
Until he walked smack-bang into Marcus Greenfeld.
‘Mr Arcuri,’ he proclaimed, before Antonio could extricate himself from the situation. The man took off his greasy glasses and began rubbing them with his tie. ‘Kind of you to come. Didn’t have to, of course,’ he said apologetically. ‘I hope you don’t mind the...the extravagance. But then, of course, it was your suggestion so, yes... Thank you. I—’
‘You have done an amazing job.’ The lie was giving the man far more credit than he was clearly due, but it was necessary to ensure that Emma’s inspired intervention was fully felt. ‘This evening’s gala has garnered a huge amount of positivity,’ he said, loudly enough for Emma to hear as she made her way over to the two of them.
Did he notice a slight blush on her cheeks?
‘Mr Greenfeld... Mr Arcuri—the meal will be served shortly,’ Emma informed them.
Antonio’s hawk-like gaze raked over her—all of her. Even dressed in the clothes he now saw that she wore like armour, she outshone Amber like the north star.
‘I was just telling Marcus how much I’m enjoying the gala. A truly wonderful event. And with that in mind I have decided to double the donations raised this evening. Marcus,’ he said, turning back to the man, ‘please be so good as to announce that before the meal starts. Let’s see if it greases some wheels.’ He tried not to look at the man’s glasses as he spoke.
His statement signalled the end of the conversation, but Marcus Greenfeld still took an awkward moment to realise it was his cue to leave.
Emma was looking at him with huge round eyes. The same eyes that had first caught his attention in London. He needed to get his own eyes off his PA and on to the next fiancée option. He needed to keep his mind on track. He wasn’t here for the charity—he was here to help secure the Bartlett deal.
‘That’s...that’s wonderful, Antonio. Thank you so much.’
‘You don’t have to thank me. It’s my charity, after all. Besides... It’s good publicity.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ she said, levelling him with a stare that saw far too much, and speaking in a voice that held too much optimism. ‘I think you’re doing it out of the kindness of your heart.’
‘Don’t paint any illusions about me, Emma. Trust me—there’s very little good left in me.’
‘Well, then. I’ll just have to nurture that last little bit of goodness.’
As she slipped away into the throng of guests his errant mind wondered what else she might nurture and he cursed himself to hell and back.
When the guests started to make their way in a somewhat chaotic line through to where the meal was being served, he saw Dimitri peel off from a group of attractive women.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ Antonio asked as they stood back and watched the guests pile in for the meal.
‘Absolutely. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,’ Dimitri replied, full of laughter.
‘I’m glad you find humour in this.’
‘And in your purpose,’ Dimitri responded, clinking his glass of champagne against Antonio’s. ‘So, anyone caught your eye yet?’
As Antonio scanned the guests at the gala, all decked in the kind of finery that suited their opulent surroundings, his eyes snagged on Emma once again.
‘Emma shared the list of suitable candidates with me, and I must say, apart from that girl Amber, she’s chosen wisely. Though if you’re not overly taken with option one I’d be happy to take her off your hands.’
‘Che palle, Dimitri.’ Antonio cast Dimitri a dark look, but his friend only shrugged.
‘Ti?’ Dimitri queried in Greek.
‘Natasha Eddings—“option one”—is not up for grabs. This isn’t a cattle market, Dimitri. This is important. If Bartlett is even going to meet with me, then I need a fiancée to resolve any detrimental effects of my previous...assignations.’
‘Is that what the kids are calling it these days?’
‘Don’t joke. This is a serious matter.’
